Call of Destiny
by young sin fun
Summary: Racing with time, Soap, Price, and Nikolai's only hope is to get information from Makarov's accountant. When personalities clash, can they find their way out of this mess? Possible SoapXOC
1. Chapter 1

Call of Destiny

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine ., except for my character Sue.

[Soap's POV]

Blini. Hot Russian pancakes flew at full speed missed my face by mere centimeters. Normally, pancakes do not fly but this one is forced to do so due to the direct explosion of an RPG, Rocket Propelled Grenade. The whiff of crisp and sweetness together with radiated warmth assaulted my senses only to give me clue as to what is going to happen next. The stove is nearly mangled open, that gas powered cooker must be going to explode any second now. I got rid of the round thin pancake from my face and glanced back; there Nikolai ducked under one window, reloading his magazine while next to him Price is aiming down his UMP, picking off more hostiles that nearly wiped us out. Both protected from the distance between the room and the stove in the kitchen, but that wasn't the case with our hostess as she walked straight into the debris that was her kitchen, shock was written all over her face.

"Get down, goddamnit!" I barked at her, at the same time my feet scrambled, my eyes scanned the connected living room searching for anything to hide behind. I knew that bloody woman's reaction would not be fast enough against the now expanding gas pipe. I grabbed her by the waist and threw her lithe body behind a full sized leather couch. I jumped to join her but a loud explosion and everything went dark.

[60 minutes earlier]

"Are you sure she didn't keep any weapon with her Nikolai?" I glanced

Nikolai, the Russian, adjusted the rear view mirror of the car we are currently in before replying, "I told you my friend; the most lethal thing she ever handled was an uzi, extended magz, hit nothing."

"I doubt that." Price cut in, "People learn, and in this kind of business, they learn fast. Soap, zoom that photo, look carefully at her left torso."

The old rickety Pentium powered technology whirred to life while it took a few seconds for us to be able to see the result. I can see an unnatural bump just below her left breast; she brought a gun alright, albeit a small one. Had we have the better technology we would find out what kind of gun it is, but for now we have to be satisfied with what little resources we had.

I look up from the old laptop to the rusty ceiling of this rickety rental car, my fingers dug into the sticky sweat stained couch. Gone were, the hummer with machine gun on tops, the intel boys with their gadgetry and toys, unlimited mission funding, vast selection of high tech weapons, and my men. My men. The thought brought me back to Meat and Royce's banter in the mess hall, the smell of Chemo's bomb recipe, the squeaky sound Archer and Toad made every time they clean up their sniper rifles, the incessant talking of Ghost, and Roach's curious eyes. The eyes that glued to every movement of mine, eyes of an FNG, sometimes in the dead of a vacant night I found that boy sneaking into The Pit, mimicking his senior's moves, trying to reveal secrets of Archer's accuracy, Ghost's trained reaction, and…

"Soap." Price's voice cut through my thought, "we are going in 15 minutes."

I nodded, 15 minutes before the mission is when you have to begin to focus and I as the lead commander of the mission will have to repeat the information acquainted with the mission.

"Our mission today is to gather any information of Makarov from his personal accountant with any means possible. She lives in Road Block Apartement, room number 4, under the name of Mary Sue. Target is marked as dangerous and possibly armed. About 5' 3" and 95 pounds with black hair and brown eyes, there are no currently known special marks such as tattoos or scars. Her last visual contact with Makarov was 2 months ago, a week before the massacre in Russian airport. There's also indication that she communicate regularly with Makarov via phone call. The plan is to bait her out, and let Nikolai distract her while me and Price will climb through her balcony. If anything happens during the mission, target is to be snatched to the designated hide out for further questioning. Any questions?" I see only determination in both men's eyes. Price grabbed his boney hat from dashboard and I knew we're good to go.

The climb was easy, for the fact it only 2 story building, and the balcony was covered with several tropical foliages. I got up first than helped Price with guns and rope; I faintly heard hushed voice of Nikolai and a woman speaking in Russian, mentioning a thing or two about fugitives, and two SAS friend. So she kept herself updated alright. Luckily the glass door that connected the balcony with the living room was unlocked, after I carefully shed the curtain with the tip of my UMP, I immediately saw a dainty figure, bottom length black hair braided, shorts and tank tops, looks like she just got up from the bed. Her left hand was on the door handle, and the other hand rummaging something on the cupboard, at the moment all I can think about is gun.

"Don't even think about it!" I sternly whispered my hand steady on the trigger, the tip of my gun right behind her head.

She slowly turned; her dark brown eyes met my blue ones, fear emanates from them but there's also a calculating cunningness threaten to caught me off guard.

"I cannot believe you did this to me Nikolai." She hissed

"I am sorry, tovarisch…" can be heard faintly behind the half – opened door.

Her sights fell on the tip of my UMP, "and as for you, lower the gun."

"Or what?" I challenged.

"Are you stupid? I won't be able to talk if my brains are splattered on the wall." So she knows what we are here for.

There was an impenetrable silence, our eyes engaged on the battle of will, one slip of mistrust she will ended up dead, and I will walk away in empty hands. Right now, that is a risk I cannot afford.

"She's right Soap; all we want is the information." Price warned me. "Young lady, get your hands away from that cupboard. We will not harm you." The older captain walked toward us, he guided the tip of my UMP lower and closed the cupboard she previously rummaged. He then produced his M9 and took out the magazine, "this is my goodwill." He said.

She eyed both of us suspiciously, then in a swift hand move, she slide open the door's chain lock, "Come get in Nikolai, I don't need anyone witnessing a Russian informant by my door. I'm going to get changed."

Just like that she walked away, into a room, slamming the door in the process. I was thinking about going after her, for she can easily pull that reason for grabbing a weapon against us, or jumping out of the window. Price however placed his hand on my shoulder; he shook his head and said, "We need to get this girl to trust us, false information is worse than nothing.".

Soon after she came out with a decent knee length dress, no guns in sight, and both of her hands were occupied with the hair bun she formed on top of her head. "I don't hide any weapons behind photo frames Niko." The curious Russian ignored the statement; his eyes continued its feast upon many photographs hanged on the living room wall.

She then proceeded past me onto the kitchen cabinet, motioning me and Price to sit in a small kitchen table. Lives alone obviously, since the table is actually a small coffee table, heavily decorated with frilly white table cloth. To add the crampiness, on middle of the table is a vase filled with fresh flowers. I glanced up to Price who looked as uncomfortable as I do, which man wouldn't? I feel less manly just by sitting here.

"No boyfriend yet I see." That was Nikolai, strolling his way to the table.

Amidst the clanking of cooking utensils and soft hum of coffee brewer in the kitchen she replied, "What was that suppose to mean?".

That particular sentence, thanks to my sister, could be translated to, 'Go to hell, don't snoop on my personal life.'.

"Well, you'll be 30 by the end of the year and you'll end up being an old maid if you don't find someone soon." Nikolai retorted with surprising casualty, which caused Price to clear his throat in awkwardness. Of all the worst thing you can say to a woman, I face palmed.

Upon hearing no answers he defense himself, "What? It's brotherly affection!"

She countered hotly, "Brotherly affection indeed, your sisters must have been very happy when they DISOWNED you."

In which the Russian guy shrugged lightly, "Their loss."

She rolled her eyes and put 4 cups of coffee in the table. "You guys want something particular for breakfast?" That certainly caught me off guard, cooking us breakfast? A luxury indeed since our 3 men group runs and fueled by MREs and cup noodles. A suspicious luxury.

"Will it include poison?" I asked, a tad bit too sarcastic I admit.

"And risking you guys puking and bleeding on my luxurious custom made Persian rug? You're such a Neanderthal caveman." She then turned to the man beside me.

"Nikolai, what do you want for breakfast?"

Nikolai grins from ear to ear, "Do you really need to ask tovarisch?"

"Blini?"

"Blini."

End of Chapter 1

Author's Note: So what do you think of my fic? Please Review, so I can write better story. The background of the story itself is placed in chapter2, so plz continue reading. If there's any mistake don't be hesitant to tell me, since I'm a new MW2 player, so late I know ^^. I jumped straight from WaW to BO, and I just bought MW2 last month when I heard MW3 is coming up.

I'd also be delighted if you recommend a good fic or two from this section, since I am totally new in this Call of Duty section. Thankies \(^o^)/


	2. Chapter 2

**Call of Destiny**

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine ., except for my character Sue.

**[3****rd**** POV]**

Lavender. A flower famous for its relaxing fragrant, it reminds people of their homes and beds, even when it actually smelled of trash and sweats. Nevertheless, the fragrant failed to compel that particular sense which belongs to a man lying in junior sized bed, half of his feet sticking out. His body covered with carefully wrapped bandages with several patches on his arms; beneath it several angry looking gashes adorned his torso. For Captain John "Soap" Mactavish, the only scent he is familiar with is those of hospital and barrack's sterile disinfectant. Realizing the alien environment, his eyes flew open, trained minds and nerves ignored the pain caused by the abrupt awake.

"Don't move so much or you will rip your wounds open again." His –undoubtedly- pissed off hostess is sitting at the opposite end of the room, in front of her a table with medical supplies cluttered around and a laptop backlight softly illuminating her face.

Soap would have laughed if it wasn't for his, seemingly, broken rib so a deep chuckle came out instead, which invites a questioning look from the other inhabitant of the room.

"I'm surprised you haven't killed us for destroying your kitchen." The young captain replied, and despite the warning look from Sue, he stands and stretches his arms.

She rolled her eyes up and lazily retorted, "How can you be so sure? Price and Nikolai are already six feet under, now it's your turn."

Snorted at the reply, Soap thought how eager he is to see her try. Even in his injured state now, he can still kick an arse like hers any day, and he would bet pretty sum too that she never even lifted heavy weights with that well manicured nails of hers.

But then he realized something is truly missing, "Price and Nikolai, they make it out of your apartment don't they?"

"Yes, who the hell do you think dragged you out? Certainly not me." Her eyes still glued to the laptop, "They're shopping for some supplies, Captain Price decided that they should split and shop at different stores so they would not draw any suspicion."

Not used to being in idle condition, the Task Force 141 captain paced back and forth in the room, several times he glanced between Sue's dead serious expression and the laptop screen and although computer is his least favorite tool to work with, he offered his help. Which Sue declined, from the look of it she was busy chatting online, but then she explained that the guy she was chatting with can provide them with fake passport and IDs to allow them travel worldwide.

"Mind telling me what happened?" Soap asked her while trying to put a shirt on.

Her chair swiveled, with an incredulous look she replied, "Nothing much, it's just my usual Sunday where an old friend came to visit and we are about to have a beautiful breakfast and coffee in the kitchen when suddenly RPG-wielding mercenaries decided to blow my kitchen up and probably killed a kitten that just adopted a week ago. Apparently these 'new' friends of mine forgot to tell me that their status as fugitives have potential of wrecking somebody's life upside down. Then you passed out with a large gash in your back and here we are." She smiled sweetly, saccharine sweet. "If nothing else bothers Mr. Neanderthal Caveman, would he mind telling what happened in HIS side of the story?"

"Makarov." The tension in the room instantly raises and the quick tapping of the keyboard pauses. "He's what happened."

"I catch that part. In fact I can exactly correlate as to why you're here. You think I knew where 'my boss' is right? Cause I'm his personal accountant? You are wrong."

"You may call him your boss. He is, however, widely known as a terrorist on the loose, murderer. I'm sure you know that fact aye?" Rough baritone and thick accent lose its control and came out through his words.

"Airport Massacre? Subway Bombing? Stealing Plutonium? I know that alright. But what you don't know is more than that." She opened one of her bag and fished out several pieces of papers, Soap received it. "That, is his current worth."

"US$ 163 Million?"

"Slovenskaya Mafiya. They do illegal arms trading, human trafficking, narcotics, or any other things they can get their hands on. Makarov, is the head!"

Soap read the papers carefully, seeking a way to understand them, but the very paper holds no meaning for the battle hardened soldier merely numbers, names, and more numbers stacked together. Even so he was a captain and a commander in field never showed hesitation towards the unknown.

"We've heard Slovenskaya before but never of Makarov being its leader. Fill me in." He commanded swiftly.

The petite woman tampered for a while, not quite sure if it is the best move to tell him everything, for Makarov would probably protect her if she has the chance to slip away from these guys. Will he? She pushed the thought aside, geez who was she thinking? Makarov would definitely shoot her on sight.

She faced him, once again dark brown meet blue colored eyes, "You may have heard of Mikhail Antonovich as the godfather of that organization, but the fact is that the organization is owned and controlled by Makarov, the other guy serves only as a sock puppet." She paused to see if he was paying attention, he obviously did. "His activities both as a 'bussinessman' and as a terrorist runs separately, the organization is not in any way acquainted with his terrorism activity across the world. Makarov would never use anyone in his mafiya organization to do his personal bidding or to supply him weapon, the only thing that links them together is Makarov and his money. Thus up until now, nobody, not even CIA -I reckon, knows that his act of terror is often funded by Slovenskaya."

The man digested her words carefully; lots of questions filled his brain. One at a time, he thought. "He already had enough money from bank robbing and kidnapping, why would he need any other source?"

She huffed loudly and crossed her legs, "Did anybody in the Special Forces ever count? Surely they realize a mere several million dollars and rubble would not be enough."

Upon Soap's silence she whined, "Oh, tell me they do count! I mean how else would you guy find out about me?" When no answer was heard from the former SAS Captain, she wildly guessed, "It's Nikolai isn't it?"

Soap looked up at her from the papers in his hands, "Don't look at me."

"Gods I knew it! That guy is gonna be the death of me! Cannot keep his mouth shut for even a split second!" She threw her hands in the air and start huffing furiously, flinging her comically long hair back and forth.

Soap, sensing the dangerously high level of estrogen fury in the room, quickly cut in. "How well protected is that guy?"

"For a start, he owns dozens of BTRs and choppers and his own personal army –thanks to the Ultranationalist party. He had numerous back ups in Russian parliament, he had contact in States and every other corner of the world! I mean he could've elected himself president of Russia and have his personal secret service, or whatever they're called there, if he wanted so!"

He and price had attempted the impossible before, penetrating a base full of hostiles is just another day for him, but the fact that Makarov is not a simple mad case of a terrorist like he thought before made soap cautiously ask, "And our chances of taking him out?"

"What do you mean taking him out?" The accountant before him need no reply as she gazed into those blue orbs, "This is crazy, I'm out of here. I'm out, you gus wanted to go on a suicide mission do it yourself." With that she picked up her belongings from the table.

A hand run through his now grown and unkempt Mohawk, "Nobody's asking you to get involved, all we wanted is the info…"

"I've been involved since you guys burst to my apartment!" The answer came out harshly and she quickly arranged her bags and laptop, rushing through the door.

She, however, was allowed no further step as something solid blocked her path. Soap's chest.

The petite woman's heart seemed to skip a few beat before pumping again like crazy; this guy in front of her is at least 10 inches taller than her if not a whole feet. With her 99 lbs she barely holds a candle to his athletic build. His palm was not in a chocking position, in fact it barely touches her lips, but it was his eyes just like when she first saw him holding his UMP she knew this guy kills on regular basis. Even without a gun, she knew he can kill her with ease, she thought.

"I'm sorry; I just need you to stop." He leveled himself with her height, "You clearly had no better chance with Makarov out there. At least here, with us, we will try to keep you safe."

Soap clasped her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

He pushed the girl until she was back on the verge of the small bed and he motioned her to lay down. "Dark circles under your eyes. Go get some shut eye; I'll finish whatever you're doing.".

The smell of lavender mixed with natural musk of the previous man, strangely brought her to the thought of a distant home in her past. Safe and secured. Home, and she closed her eyes.

A/N : Review is always appreciated :)


End file.
